The Choices You Make Is The Path We'll Take
by StoriesOfMyLife96
Summary: Half-Blood Prince, the infamous bathroom scene revisited. No Sectumsempra, just two boys trying to make the right choices.
1. Chapter 1

**I found this sitting in my documents, I started this about two or three years ago and never finished it, until today. I blame the Harry Potter weekend and reading through Harry Potter and The Cursed Child. Keep in mind this is my first time writing for this ship, so please, be kind (:**

The only sounds that could be heard in the second floor bathroom was the sound of a faucet dripping steadily in the sink and Draco's heavy, panicked breathing.

Staring at himself in the mirror, he hardly recognized the person that stared back. His silver grey eyes were lifeless, bloodshot and red rimmed from sleepless nights and the angry frustrated tears that he had shed moments before. Dark circles stood out against his paler than normal skin, his cheek slightly sunken in from his unhealthy weight loss, not having the stomach to keep anything down.

He didn't know this helpless and lost person. He didn't know how to quell the fear that was raging underneath his skin, threatening to break free every day. He didn't know how to deal with the complete and utter failure this mission was turning out to be.

He didn't know how he could help himself out of this.

The amount of desperation that threatened to consume him was overwhelming and desperate to be let out. He felt like a caged animal, frantic to escape and be free.

He couldn't do this anymore. He didn't _want_ to do this anymore.

Sliding down the wall, he rested his head in his hands and screamed, thankful that remembered to place a silencing charm around the door, just in case anyone happened to walk by. Tears burned his eyes once again, and he couldn't prevent the sobs escaping his throat even if he wanted to.

He had never felt so alone and so torn in his life before. He could feel his life spiraling out of his control, his grasp on it slipping and he wanted more than anything to take the past six months of his life back.

He never wanted to bare the Dark Mark and become a pawn in the Dark Lords game. He never wanted to follow in either of his parents footsteps by becoming something he had grown to hate over the years. He never wanted to watch people die right before his very eyes, to see people being subjected to the Unforgivables just for the Dark Lord and his merry band of followers amusement. The sight and thought of it all made his stomach recoil and acid burn in his throat, as if wanting to purge his body from the evil and horrible sights he had been subjected to.

But if he revolted, his parents and anyone else he loved or cared about would die right alongside of him, when they finally caught him. As much as he despised his parents—more so his father for making him do this—he could never let them suffer at the hands of that… _monster._ It would not be a quick and painless death, the Dark Lord shows no mercy and would make it as long, painful and slow as possible, to the point where he would be _begging_ for all of it to end.

At this point, however, even death and torture would be a welcome embrace. No longer would he have to be subjected to watch people suffer for others amusement. He wouldn't have to face the disappointment of his parents at his failures and he could finally be free of the blood that stained his hands and the stress and the worry and the complete nightmare that his life had become.

He heard him before he saw him.

Years of dealing with his father and more recently, the Death Eaters that now occupied the place he used to call home, taught him to be constantly on guard and aware of his surroundings.

Then again, Potter failed to have a stealth bone in his body and his heavy and rushed footsteps in the corridor could be heard from a mile away by even the most unware deaf person.

Out of reflex and self-preservation, he gripped his wand tightly in his right hand, his body tensing and curling in on itself. He could feel his pulse in his throat, his heart slamming against his rib cage and his breath quickened. The familiar sense of panic was crawling through his system, slowly overtaking every nerve ending in his body, threating to claw through his skin and eat him alive.

His fight or flight was kicking in, his self-preservation was screaming at him to run or at least hide until Potter left.

He ignored it all.

Instead, he sat there, his body quivering and shaking with the amount of effort he put into not running away.

And that's how Potter found him, curled up and shaking in the middle of the girl's second floor lavatory. His pale face tear-stained and his silver-grey eyes were blown wide with fear and anxiety.

 _Weak_

 _Pathetic_

He could feel Potter staring at him, watching him, observing him, debating on what spell to attack him with first. Draco wasn't sure if he could even be bothered to fight back.

"I know what you did to Katie." Potter said, breaking the silence that had been stretching and coiling between them. His tone was cautious, but accusatory. And it set Draco's teeth on edge.

"You know nothing, Potter," Draco said with a snort of dark amusement, shaking his head briefly, "you know _nothing."_

"I know you cursed her, used an unforgivable, probably caught her off guard and gave her the necklace and told her to deliver it Dumbledore—"

" _You know nothing, Potter! Nothing!"_ Draco shouted, his chest tight, his vision blurry and suddenly he was up, standing on shaky legs with his wand drawn, "You have no idea, not one small inkling as to what's happening, Potter, no idea" Draco whispered, his voice soft, but his words were dark, "what I'm capable of," he added, voice tight and rising once more with the growing fear and rage, "so if you know what's good for you, you'll turn around and walk away. Stop following me, stop watching me and just leave me _alone."_

Potter's eyes widened a fraction and Draco could help but chuckle darkly, "You think I didn't notice you watching me? Following me around, whispering about me with your little friends?" Draco shook his head, a wry smile on his pale face, "You may be many things, Potter, but subtle is not one of them."

Potter was silent, his green eyes appraising and suddenly thoughtful. Draco felt exposed, vulnerable under his piercing gaze and he didn't like it.

"I know what you are," Potter said softly, cautious once again, and Draco tensed.

"I told you, Potter you know _nothing—"_

"I saw you," Potter continued, cutting him off and Draco let him, too tired to fight it anymore, "That day, in Diagon Alley? You were with your mother, walking through streets, glancing over your shoulders, looking like two people who didn't want to be seen."

Draco turned his head, shutting his eyes against the flood of memories of that day, his fear and anger at having to follow in his parent's footsteps, the pain of receiving his mark, the Dark Lord embracing him as if he was his own son, his fear at being so close to something so _dark._ The impossible task he knew he was given because of the Dark Lord's anger towards his father and his treason. A sacrificial lamb for a cause he didn't even believe in.

"You headed down Knockturn Alley, and went into Borgin and Burkes," Potter carried on, taking a few steps closer to a frozen Draco, who felt the shift and was watching him warily, "So I followed you, climb the roof of a nearby shop—"

"A bit much, don't you think Potter?" Draco said dryly, suddenly well aware how close their proximity was and he wasn't sure what he was more upset about, the fact that Potter was so close and he wasn't doing anything to stop it. Or that Potter was so close and he wasn't even the least bit bothered by it.

 _Huh_

"—And I knew Voldemort was there," Potter said, not the least bit annoyed by his interruption and either ignoring or not noticing Draco's flinch at the name. With how close they were, Draco highly doubted it was the latter. Potter, while lacking subtly, made up for it with his knack for observing.

"I know, because my scar hurts whenever he's around," Potter answered his unasked question, increasing Draco's annoyance, "and I saw him give you the Dark Mark."

Draco was so caught up in his irritation with Harr— _Potter,_ his apparent mind-reading ability and his own lack of aggravation at Potter's lack of personal space, that he failed to notice his left hand now in Potter's possession, the sleeves of his white button down rolled up to his elbow, exposing the delicate skin of his wrist and the dark ink marring the other-wise blemish free pale flesh.

"I don't know why you did what you did to Katie," Potter whispered, his voice soft, breath warm against Draco's suddenly cold skin, "But I do know that this," he continued, brushing his thumb across the mark, which was raised slightly from his skin, the ink painful and black, true signs of the Dark Lord's growing anger and frustration. Draco shivered, but for reasons unknown to him, it had nothing to do with his previous thought, "is somehow connected to it."

"You sure of that, are you?" Draco asked, somehow finding his voice.

A pale pink blush spread across Har— _Potter's_ cheeks and Draco couldn't help but smirk slightly at the sight, "I won't pretend to know you well, Draco, but I do know that you'd never intentionally do something to hurt someone. Belittle them with words, yes, but directly cause someone physical harm…" Harry shook his head, a small chuckle leaving his lips, "well, that was always more Crabbe or Goyle's style than yours."

Draco wasn't sure how to feel about that revelation, deciding to store it away for later. Instead, he gazed silently at Harry for a moment, deciding that if he can start calling him by his first name, he could start doing the same, at least mentally, for now. His eyes flickered from the earnest green of his eyes, to the slope of his nose, the shape of his lips, the set of his jaw, down to the tanned hand that still held his wrist with gentlest of touches, marveling at the contrast of their skin and he couldn't help but wonder _why._

 _Why_ was this boy, who not even twenty minutes ago, he could've sworn hated him with every fibre of his being, being so kind to him? Out of all the things that had happened to Draco so far this year, this had to be the strangest and most puzzling and Draco hated puzzles. He couldn't understand why Harry was being so… _gentle._ It was almost like—

"Why do you care, Harry?" Draco demanded, raising his eyes back to Harry's, which were once again wide with what Draco assumed was shock at hearing his first name pass his lips. Draco wasn't sure he'd ever said his name without malicious intentions before. He hated to admit it, but it was kind of a refreshing change.

"I know what it's like," Harry admitted softly, "to feel alone in a room full of people. To walk around with all of this… _anger_ and not knowing how to control it.

"But mostly," he continued, his voice turning gentle, once again cautious, "I know what it's like to bare a cross you never wanted to bare in the first place. Like the weight of the world rest on your shoulders and everyone is looking to you to succeed, no matter what consequences or costs."

Draco stiffened, his walls raising at the reminder of how _wrong_ this whole this was. What was he doing? Letting himself be cornered by someone he thought of as his enemy, allowing him to see him in his moment of weakness, so open and vulnerable.

 _Weak_

 _Pathetic_

Wrenching himself out Har— _Potter's_ grasp, he shoved him out of the way, needing, _wanting_ to put some sort of distance between himself and something he'd denied himself for so long because it was _expected_ of him. If it was one thing Draco knew, it was the line between dark and light and he was no longer neutral. If he was being honest with himself, he never was a neutral party, he'd been toeing the line between light and dark since his birth and now he was on the dark side, the side his parents believed in and the side he was expected to follow. Ideals and values he was supposed to uphold. He couldn't even be _friends_ with Potter, let alone entertaining any childish desires of _more,_ because he stood for everything he was supposed to fight against. Potter was the reason he was forced into the situation he was currently dealing with now, the reason his father was thrown into Azkaban and the reason his name was a joke when it once held prestige and honor.

The lines were clear, Draco just wished his thoughts on the subject were.

"And what? Does that make us friends now? Suddenly we have something in common, something we can discuss over tea and biscuits?! Poor Saint Potter and his burden of saving the Wizarding world," Draco spat harshly, "You haven't a clue, Potter, what I'm dealing with. You may have your theories, your stalker-ish tendencies and you may think that you have some form of understanding of me, but you don't _know, you don't!"_

Potter's eyes flashed, his emerald eyes hardening like stone and Draco felt a small thrill run up his spine at the sight.

"You think you're so mysterious, Malfoy?! I know you've got the Dark Mark, I just saw it with my own bloody eyes, I even touched the damned thing," Potter shouted back, and Draco had to stop himself from flinching at tone of disgust in his voice, "I know you're working for Voldemort, I know that he's assigned you to kill Dumbledore—"

"And what?" Draco demanded, not bothering to hide his scorn, "You're here to offer me help? Bring me to Dumbledore, swear myself to the light and help rid the world of disgusting low-life's like me?" Draco laughed coldly, "Don't you get it, Potter? No one can help me, not even Saint-Potter and his army of self-sacrificing solider's."

Draco gave another sharp laugh, running his fingers through his mussed up hair, hoping Potter couldn't see how badly he was shaking.

"Draco—" Potter began, but Draco shook his head.

"Don't, Potter, it's no use."

He could hear Harry take hesitant steps towards him, but he didn't bother to back away. He was tired of running, tired of fighting and tired of this war, even though the worst was yet to come.

"You can go to, Dumbledore, Draco," Harry whispered, placing his fingers underneath Draco's chin and lifting his head in order to see his eyes. Stubbornness and determination burned bright in his eyes and Draco's lips twitched, hopelessly endeared, "he probably already knows, I suspect, nothing really gets passed that man, he can help you, protect you."

Draco gave Harry a soft, self-pitying smile, "You don't think I haven't already thought of that?"

"Then why haven't you? He won't turn you away, you might have to explain your half a little bit, but—"

Draco shook his head, "What about my parents, Harry? Do you know what You-Know-Who would do to them once he found out that I had traded sides? Why do you think he tasked me to kill Dumbledore in the first place?"

Draco could see the frustration and desperation growing in Harry's eyes, "You have a choice, Draco, a choice to get out of this mess and help people, help us, help me," he added softly, "your parents made their choices, they chose to follow Voldemort—"

"—Please don't say his name—" Draco pleaded, wincing.

"—you didn't," Harry said, ignoring him, "you didn't choose this, Draco, I know you didn't."

"And what makes you so sure I didn't?" Draco said softly, carefully, "you don't know me that well, you said it so yourself."

Harry gave a small nod of acknowledgement, but there was a soft look in his eyes, almost teasing, if Draco read it right, "I'm sure, because you wouldn't be in the girl's lavatory, a shaking and crying mess if you did."

Draco opened his lips to protest, but shut them when he realized, with slight reluctance, that Harry was right.

"Why do you care, anyway? Really." Draco countered, raising an eyebrow.

"I told you, I know what it's like to not have a choice, to carry the weight of something so much bigger than yourself and being expected to succeed." Harry stopped, suddenly unsure and Draco gave him a small smile.

"There's more, isn't there?" Draco asked, and Harry nodded sheepishly.

"Maybe."

"Are you going to tell me or am I expected to guess?"

"Depends, are you going to Dumbledore?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.

Draco deflated, "Harry—"

"Just think about it, please. He can help you." Harry pleaded gently.

Draco couldn't help but smile, "You're a stubborn one, aren't you?"

Harry smiled sheepishly, not denying it.

Draco sighed heavily, "Alright, I-I'll go," he conceded and he couldn't help the small blush that heated his cheeks at Harry's blinding smile, "but let me do it on my own terms, okay? I don't need to hold my hand like some overgrown, bloody baby—"

His protest were silenced as a pair of soft lips met his, kissing him soundly. Calloused, tanned, warm hands cupped his cheeks and pulled him closer and Draco couldn't help but respond eagerly.

It wasn't going to be easy, Draco knew, he still had to come to terms with the possibility of severing ties with his family and sacrificing everything he knew in order to have a life of his choosing.

But if that meant getting something he'd coveted for so long but denied himself the pleasure of it, all because of something he'd never wanted in the first place, and getting to choose, to be free and actually save this world he loved so much from the hell that was bound to rain down upon it if You-Know-Who got his way.

Well, he had a choice now, and this choice, right here, in his arms, was beyond worth it.

 **Thoughts? I might do a sequel to this, I'm not sure yet (:**


	2. The Right Path Doesn't Mean Easy

**So I think I'll turn this into a series of one-shots, not necessarily a chaptered story. Maybe, I don't know. Enjoy (:**

Pinks and oranges and yellows swirled and mixed in the warm summer evening, painting the grounds of Hogwarts in a soft golden light of the fading sun. The grounds were quiet, almost serene and if Draco closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that the last seventy two hours had never happened.

His status as a Death Eater had been revealed to the whole school, the War between light and dark was rising to a near breaking point, his parents were now aware of his change in loyalties and Dumbledore was dead and with him, was Draco's hopes of ever escaping the Dark Lord's reign of terror relatively unscathed.

Draco wasn't an idiot, he knew that while the Order had quiet a few members, it was still nothing compared to the amount of followers the Dark Lord had and was still gaining. And now, with the death of their leader, the chances of a victory seemed more like a distant dream for the Order. They didn't stand a chance, not with the amount of people who, like Draco, were weighing the pros and cons of each side and right now, the scales tipped more towards the Dark side. Join the winning team and you have a stronger chance of survival. The logic was sound, and maybe, at one point, Draco's Slytherin side would've lead him that direction.

Self-preservation ran deep, he was learning. Going against one's nature was a hard battle and Draco found himself wondering if it was worth the fight. It took everything in him that night on the astronomy tower, to not follow his parents, to take the easy path and stay in the Dark Lord's good graces. To follow logic and deal with the consequences later.

 _But_

Watching Harry fall to his knees next to Dumbledore's dead body, agony written across every crevice of the face Draco was still learning and mapping, a face he was growing to… _care_ for, for the first time in his life, he followed his heart and now it was leading him down a path that had an unseen ending.

Draco found himself suddenly angry. At Dumbledore, at Harry, but mostly at himself.

He never deluded himself into thinking he was a good person. He's lied, stolen, schemed, cheated, blackmailed and always put himself first. He's never once cared about anything other than money and attention and himself. He's hurt people, said and done some horrid things to people. Because it was so _easy,_ to live up to the standard that everyone expected of him. The Malfoy name was like a brand, seared into his skin and with it came the judgement from the entire wizarding world to be who they thought he _should_ be. Who his father _wanted_ him to be. What his peers _wanted_ him to be.

But now that he was trying, for the first time in his life, to do the right thing, to be the better man, someone who could be worth redemption, he was struggling to break the mold that he'd been forced to shape into for his entire life.

He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he didn't want to be that person. Cold, callous, and detached from everything and everyone around him—something that resembled his father to close for his liking—but he couldn't help but think how much _easier_ it would all be, to slide back into that role, to run back into the embrace of his old life, no matter how suffocating and dark it was.

He didn't know who he was without any of it and that scared Draco more than anything. He didn't know how to be the better man, to be selfless and caring. His whole life he wanted out and now, when faced the high stakes that were only going raise over the next few months, his logic wanted nothing more than to run back to it all and never look back.

Having Harry and…whatever they were, helped ground him and even though it scared him with depth of truth the sentiment held, it gave him something to fight for. While his logic was a force to be reckoned with, whatever he had with Harry was stronger and Draco's choice, to reject the morals and values he was raised with—something that again, went against that pesky nature of his—and to fight for something that, deep down, he knew was the right thing. He just wished that doing the right thing was as natural to him as doing things the easy way was, once upon a time.

" _We must all make the choice between what is right and what it is easy."_

Draco, at the time, never knew what Dumbledore meant by that, but when faced with the internal war that was currently in front of him, he never understood something with more clarity.

Footsteps sounded behind him and despite his current state of inner turmoil, a small smile danced on the edges of Draco's lips, knowing who it was without even having to turn around.

"You may be talented with several things, Potter, but stealth isn't among them." He drawled, never taking his eyes off the the view in front of him.

"And for a moment, I thought that might've been a compliment passing your lips." Harry said, mimicking Draco's dry tone.

"Perhaps one day, Potter, you may manage to accomplish something worthy of a compliment, but until that day comes…" Draco's voice trailed off, his lips quirking up into a smirk.

"I can think of a few things," Harry responded, his voice closer than it had been a few moments ago, dripping with just enough suggestiveness and innuendo that it set Draco's cheeks aflame.

Turning his back on the setting sun, he was met with an innocent smile that contrasted greatly with the mischievous gleam in Harry's jade eyes.

Despite his flushing cheeks, Draco, never to be outdone, responded in kind, "Do you wish to put your galleons where your mouth is?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Harry mirrored his expression with twitching lips, "Is that an invitation?"

Reaching out, Harry gripped Draco's hip and pulled him closer, brushing his nose against Draco's warm cheek. Taking in his dark eyelashes brushing against his pale cheeks, down to his slightly chapped lips, Draco found himself smiling softly, his heart pounding as quick as a phoenix's wings.

They had never spoken about this… _impossible_ and _dangerous_ thing growing between them, not wishing to break whatever fragile spell that had been cast over them. But Draco wanted it, and now, with the threat of death and darkness so close he could practically feel it's clutches brushing against the nape of his neck, he held whatever they were close to his chest, wanting to protect it with every amount of strength he possessed.

"Perhaps." Draco allowed, brushing his lips against Harry's. Not really a kiss, not necessarily an invitation like he insinuated, more of a caress, a silent sign of affection that he hope said more than his constant failure of words ever could.

There was something in the air, something surrounding them and it tugged at Draco, in the back of his mind as Harry pressed closer, claiming Draco's lips with his own, something that resembled more an actual kiss than just a simple touch.

 _Desperate._

The word flashed across the front of his mind like lightening across a black satin sky as Harry did something quite skilled with his tongue that made Draco, a bit breathless, pull back to stare at darkened green eyes with something like betrayal twisting in his gut.

"You're leaving." He whispered.

An emotion, shock perhaps, guilt more likely, surfaced in Harry's eyes before it was gone just as quick as it came.

With guarded eyes, Harry slowly nodded once, quick and precise, barely noticeable. But Draco. Draco was watching Harry's face so closely, he wasn't even blinking. He didn't miss it. But apart of him wished that he did.

Panic was closing his throat, making it suddenly harder to breathe.

"Why?" It was one word, but it was a struggle keep his voice level, a forced calm.

He could see the hesitation in Harry's eyes before he even asked the question and the knife only twisted deeper. An ache flared in his chest, unfamiliar, but his mind registered it for what it was.

 _Hurt_ was not something Draco let himself feel, ever. But here, now, standing in front of a boy he was laying everything down for, someone he felt… _something_ for, it flared hot and painful to the point of agony.

"I see," Draco whispered, failing, despite his best effort to keep any emotion devoid from his tone, "even though it's covered up and out of sight, the mark is never out of mind is it?"

His words were harsh, spat like it was venom from his lips and a vicious sense of victory flared in small part of that was fighting tooth and nail to go back, at the pain that flashed through Potter's eyes.

"Draco—" Ignoring Potter's tightening grip on his hips, he yanked himself free of his arms, shouldering him out of the way to get some much needed space.

"Don't call me that," Draco snapped, his grey eyes sparking with fury, "admit it, Potter, that's all you see when you look at me, isn't it? Just some low life Death Eater who's not worth trusting."

"Draco that's not—" Potter protested.

"Merlin, I bet this was all a part of some plan," Draco continued, not even bothering to let him speak, "lure me into some sort of trap, use my feelings for you to your advantage, to get me to change sides just so when the time was right you could use me as bait or some sort of inside source—"

Potter was growing angry, Draco could see it, but he welcomed it. He was begging for some sort of fight, anything to redeem his wounded pride and make up for his obvious poor lack of judgement.

"Are Granger and Weasley in on it too? I bet they know everything," Draco said with a laugh that held no amount of amusement, "Joke's on you, Potter, because I had a plan too. I knew about your little crush on me, and I knew that the temptation of following me when I ran would be too great for you to resist. You and your pathetic Gryffindor curiosity."

Potter tried to hold on to his angry glare, but Draco could see the doubt begin to seep like poison into those defiant green eyes. The satisfaction that hummed in his veins at the sight made him feel physically ill and the ache in his chest only grew, but he pressed on.

"I never knew that just a few tears and a couple kisses could break your defenses so easily, Potter, but your loss is only my gain. Your pathetic little crush and your Gryffindor stupidity is what got Dumbledore killed—"

An ache that rivaled the one in his chest flared in his head as it met the wooden floor of the Astronomy Tower, the breath leaving his lungs in harsh _whoosh_ as Potter landed on top of him, one hand clasped around Draco's wrists, one pointing the tip of his wand at Draco's throat. His face was so close, Draco could feel his breath against his lips, short, harsh pants that were as warm as his weight on Draco's hips. His eyes were a dark green, like the sea in a thunderstorm, pupils blow wide and swimming with so much anger that Draco felt, for the first time, true fear run down his spine at the sight.

"Don't," Potter warned, so low, so cold, practically shaking with amount of anger that he didn't bother to conceal, "ever say that again."

Potter's eyes bore into his with so much intensity, Draco swore for a brief moment that Potter had put him under an Imperious. He couldn't look away even if he wanted to.

"Dumbledore," Potter said slowly, his jaw twitching with the amount of effort it took to keep his anger at bay. Guilt settled heavily in Draco's stomach, and the ache in his chest migrated to his throat, causing it constrict painfully, "left me with a specific task to do, something that, if I manage to succeed, will give me the best chance to defeat Voldemort."

Potter shook his head, a harsh laugh escaping his lips and Draco had to refrain from flinching, "You switching sides so suddenly, a marked Death Eater abandoning Voldemort's side for mine," Potter closed his eyes, but it didn't stop Draco from seeing the breathtaking amount of pain in his eyes, that made the guilt increase tenfold, "I wanted to keep you in the dark as much as possible, to protect you. The things they would do to you, if they even knew half of what—" he cut himself off with a frustrated noise and Draco found himself yearning to reach up and stroke away the furrow between his eyebrows.

With choked laugh, Harry opened his eyes and tears welled in Draco's eyes at the amount of vulnerability shining in those green depths.

"I guess it was all for nothing, wasn't it?" Harry said with a small, self deprecating laugh.

"Harry—"

He winced at the use of his name and Draco supposed he deserved that, but it didn't take the sting away.

For the first time in his life, Draco saw the amount of destruction a few well aimed words could do to someone. And for the first time, he couldn't escape the aftermath, he was forced to watch it unfold right in front of his eyes and he could do nothing to stop it. The ache in his chest was overwhelming, every emotion he'd felt in the last few days—hurt, anger, frustration, self-doubt—all crescendoed and fear like he had never felt before at the thought of someone he actually… _cared_ about, not trusting him, caused his self-preservation instinct to kick in and destroy the first pure and real thing in his life.

Once again, that line between darkness and light appeared and once again, he found himself on the dark side and was reminded why no amount of re-learning or desire could wash away sixteen years of destructive nature. He would never deserve this boy in front of him. No amount of redemption and repentance for his past sins would ever free him of his true self, of that pesky thing known as _human nature._

 _But_

Draco was a selfish man and he used that to his full advantage when he broke free of Harry's grasp, which had slackened during his admission, taking him off guard. They landed non-so gently, with Draco straddling Harry's stomach and Harry laying flat on floor beneath Draco.

"Always have to be the hero, love," Draco whispered, tone bordering on reverence. He leaned down, closing the gap slowly, giving Harry the chance to pull away, to say no, to hex him, because at this point, he beyond deserved it.

"I'm sorry," Draco whispered, brushing his lips against Harry's. A plea, an apology, a desperate attempt to say everything he was afraid to and Harry, bless him, took it for it was and the amount of relief that swept through Draco when Harry took his bottom lip between his own, kissing him back, made him breathless and made his heart stop in the best way.

"I'm trying, Harry," Draco whispered against the smooth skin of Harry's cheek, "I'm trying to make the right choice."

 _Don't give up on me._

"Have you?" Harry whispered, self-doubt coloring his tone and Draco closed his eyes, guilt once again settling like lead in his stomach.

Looking down into Harry's eyes, Draco couldn't help the small smile that danced on his lips. Brushing the dark strands from his eyes, he took in the infamous scar, the shape of his dark brows, the slope of his nose, the hope shimmering in his eyes and the pale pink color of his perfectly bowed lips.

"There may be times when I want to choose the easy path," Draco admitted, "but then something here," placing his hand on Harry's chest, right below his heart, the beat fast, but steady, a reassurance that he was here, in one piece, alive and _wanting,_ "reminds me that, the right path is way more rewarding, in the long run, than the easy one."

Brushing his lips against Harry's, Draco smiled, "You're the right path, Harry, that's the only thing I'm sure of going into this war."

And that was the truth, at the end of it all. Draco may not be sure of who he was, what he was without his parents influence or Dumbledore's guidance. But he knew, that while this wasn't the easy choice—giving up his parents, his name and possibly his _life_ for a side that may not come out the clear winner of this brewing battle—this was the _right_ one.

"Come back to me, yeah?" Draco whispered.

Harry smile didn't take away from the seriousness of his gaze or the strength and conviction in his voice when he whispered,

" _Always."_

Thoughts? (:


End file.
